The sun lit a glare on the snow
like daybreak had suddenly opened in the field
and a new sun was rising beneath
the deer tracks and branches heavy
with the irregular garland of ice.
You lurked at my periphery,
just enough out of the way that I had to
adjust to see you clearly.
It seemed the structure –
the baseline of you and of me –
had slowly been falling apart.
We were degrading as the
foundation of this house.
We were slipping concrete blocks
and creeping marshland.
We were winter snows
and bare feet, and you said,
“I’ll race you to the barn.”
I remember the thin slide
of my t-shirt and the way the cold air
terrorized my flesh.
There was a glint in your eyes,
something wild that sparkled,
and with each discarded piece of clothing
we were bare to one another
for the first time
in a long time.
And I think then, you saw me –
racing across the snow,
my bare feet leaving dark little
tattoos across the perfect crust –
I think you saw me and I know,
for a while,
I forgot all about us.
© Laura A. Lord, 2016
There are bright moments in any ending. Yesterday we told our children the truth about my husband adopting them. We told them about their birth fathers, and it was, by far, the most difficult discussion of my life. This brought back so many memories, especially about how things ended. I remember this day in the snow and thank MindLoveMiserysMenagerie for her wordle that inspired me to think of this.
Photo by Roksolana Zasiadko, Unsplash
Photo Design by Book Genesis
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